Buenos Aires without Steaks

Chinese Ravioli

Legend tells that Marco Polo himself designed the Italian ravioli after eating generous amounts of shuijiao in Kashgar while crossing the Silk Road to Xian.

This may be truth, but dishes immigrating into Italian recipes’ books had been always submitted to revolutionary changes in their basic concepts, thus the shuijiao similitude to its European younger cousin is limited to the preparation method and filling. In its way to Argentina, even more changes occurred.

More remarked is the connection of ravioli with the jiaozi, the ubiquitous dumplings that make a big part of the Chinese diet; shuijiao is a type of jiaozi. Shuijiao means in Chinese "water-dumplings;" and as in many Asian dishes, the name hints at the preparation method. In this case, the dumplings are boiled in water – as ravioli are – in sharp difference to steamed dumplings (zhengjiao) and fried dumplings (jianjiao). Thus, despite the slightly different shape of the outer envelope, the shuijiao are quite similar to ravioli.

Italian Argentina

From 1870 onwards, a massive immigration of Italians to Argentina took place. Official statistics show that nowadays up to twenty million Argentineans are related to these immigrants, meaning half of the population has an almost first hand experience with Italian cuisine.

The expected result is that Italian dishes are very popular in Buenos Aires and make a substantial part of the Argentinean diet. However, those have been adapted to the local ingredients, meaning that generous – even carnivorous – amounts of meat have been added to most of them.

La Leyenda

Having followed the legend from China to Argentina, it was only natural to have ravioli at "La Leyenda," an Italic-Argentinean restaurant centrally located on Cordoba Avenue, Buenos Aires downtown.

Despite the culinary irrelevance of the dish, the place provided a fascinating view of the local culture. It all began when I sat next to an uncovered table. A waiter approached me with a menu in one hand and a tablecloth on the other. Then I noticed that only tables with customers were covered. Were they afraid of tablecloths thieves? The menu was typical and included extensive sections of meats, pastries and Italian dishes.

Yet, two points are worth mentioning. At first sight it is difficult to notice, but the pastas are sold without sauces. The last appear in a different section of the menu and are charged separately, though they are served atop the dish. Second, a ubiquitous dish on all the surrounding tables was missing in the menu. A small basket loaded with small buns, two tiny pizza triangles and a miniature meat empanada did not appear in the menu. That is part of what is called here "cubierto," literally "cutlery," for which 3ARP (almost $1) is charged. Yes, technically, most Argentinean restaurants charge their customers for their cutlery; feeling this is a cheat, most of them add a bit of bread to soften the almost theft.

"Ravioles al Pesto," I said to the waiter while checking out the buns.

Interlude: On Pesto and Olive Oil

Originally from Genoa, Italy, pesto is a sauce prepared with crushed pine nuts, garlic, salt, basil and olive oil; it is popular with pastas, meats and other dishes.

The ingredients tell almost the whole story: this is an extremely rich and tasty sauce, but pesto weights more than its combined ingredients. Simply, it allows a very easy way of checking an establishment’s quality since two of its ingredients are relatively expensive and are thus often replaced. Common nuts are often added instead of pine nuts; vegetable oil replaces olive oil.

La Leyenda Presents: Ravioles al Pesto

Or

The Stuff Legends Are Made Of

A big plate was placed in front of me. Three small aluminum bags placed next to the dish and containing pre-ground cheese made me suspicious; only freshly ground cheese is acceptable for such dishes.

One glance at the plate was enough for judging it correctly. Atop the green mix of basil was a very generous amount of crushed walnuts; pine nuts could not be seen. The ring of oil surrounding the dish was too clear for being olive oil; seeking confirmation I dipped a small piece of bun in it and tasted: it was tasteless vegetable oil. Suddenly the relative splendor of the establishment was irrelevant; I was being cheated. Bright lamps and shiny mirrors made the defeat public.

The huge amount of ravioli in front of me was even more suspicious. It was designed to hide their most important characteristic: the ravioli individual size. Each one was about one square inch. That was too small for having been prepared by hand. These were industrial ravioli, filled up with some kind of hyper-industrial, super-touristic regurgitation.

The Blow is a stylish coffee shop located on Esmeralda Street, a road in downtown Buenos Aires that is close to all the main attractions in town. Occupying a large space, the establishment offers attractive surroundings and an ambience belonging a hundred years in the past: heavy wood furniture in dark colors, dim lights and over-dressed waitresses.

I ordered a coffee that came in a small china cup and was accompanied by a small glass of soda water, as per the traditional Argentinean fashion. It was excellent, but that didn’t surprise me from such a place. I had entered due to an item in display in one of the shelves facing the street that had caught my attention: Alfajor Cordobes.

Alfajor and Arabic Spanish

Spain had been under the Arab rule for a long time; expectedly, that influenced the Spanish language. The peculiar Spanish (and Dutch, due to later events) "j" is not an Indo-European sound, it was introduced from Arabic. Moreover, most Spanish words beginning with "al" have an Arabic origin; "al" is the Arabic article.

This is the case with "alfajor," which was derived from an Arabic word meaning "stuffed." It refers to a sweet pastry that was introduced to the Spanish cuisine and through it to Latin America. Nowadays it is very popular in Argentina and other countries in the region.

The snack is prepared with two round sweet biscuits joined together with "dulce de leche" (literally milk-sweet, a paste prepared by boiling cow milk with sugar) and covered with powdered sugar or chocolate. Seeing such an alfajor in Buenos Aires would not have been a reason to change plans; they are ubiquitous.

Alfajor Cordobes

What called my attention was an alfajor of unusual shape labeled as "Alfajor Cordobes" (Alfajor from Cordoba). Cordoba is the third largest city in Argentina; it is located near the geographical center of Argentina, 700 km northwest from Buenos Aires. The name originates in one of the main Arab cities in Spain during that period in Spaniard history. I have not been there, but now I had an opportunity to taste a dish from there; a Chinese proverb claims you have never been in a place unless you have eaten there, sadly it does not clarify what happen once you have eaten a dish from a certain location without having been there.

Thinking about this serious problem, I asked for one alfajor. The waitress said nothing and took the order. Shortly after, the creation landed in front of me. It was obviously bigger than the usual and it featured an irregular shape. It related to the usual circular biscuits in the way a standard musical concerts hall relates to Disney’s one in Los Angeles. The alfajor in front of me was "nevado" ("snowy"), meaning it was covered with a mixture of egg whites and sugar, instead of the popular chocolate. The waitress put a knife and a fork next to it.

I tried to take the first bit with the fork, but it was impossible, the delicate construction disintegrated immediately. Since usually it is eaten with the hand, I just picked it and took a healthy bite. In any case, the coffee shop was deserted since Argentineans usually enjoy siesta during the early afternoon. The alfajor was beyond description, the "snow" layer was heavily sweet, and the thick cookie beneath it seemed to have been produced by pressing pure sugar together. Between the cookies was a thick layer of dulce de leche that was very slow flowing; it was solid instead of the usual semi-liquid. It had been condensed somehow, and together with it, the sugar used for its preparation.

"You are not used to that, take another bit," I told myself. I did so and then dropped the whole pastry. "This is not Cordoba. Even if I eat this I wouldn’t have been there, despite what the Chinese proverb says," I thought happy of having found the perfect excuse.

A large tip was received by a surprised waitress. "So did you like it or not?" she said looking first at the tip and then at the massive leftovers. Smiling enigmatically, I left without answering.

This, That and Those: A Bit of Everything

"Lo De Ale" offers a winning formula for unstable markets; displaying a dual culinary identity, it offers a coffee shop and a steak house in the same location and at the same time. More than once I found myself sipping a coffee with croissants while watching and smelling big chunks of meat being barbequed.

Obviously an unappealing combination – at least for those enjoying the pastries – it is a handy compromise while in downtown Buenos Aires. Moreover, the excellent quality of both menus creates a base for forgiveness. Besides, watching carnivores is always entertaining.

"Lo de Ale" ("Chez Ale" would be a proper rendering in French and understandable in English) is open during the mornings and the afternoons, serving the entire menu at all hours. Steaks in the morning and a coffee with pastries for lunch are acceptable; this type of elasticity always appeals to Marco Polo’s traveling across time zones.

The establishment occupies a rather small space, which is occupied by an impressive grill by the entrance. The tables are inside, between the grill and an inner counter. Despite a television set chattering in Spanish, the place is pleasant and adequate for a small snack while touring the downtown area of the city.

Café con Leche

Coffee with milk is by far the most popular drink in Buenos Aires, even after the arrival of Starbucks and McCafe. For those of use used to international coffee outlets, the Argentinean version of the drink is quite surprising.

The espresso machines featured in most coffee shops are professional – there is no doubt about it – but old. That means little tuning problems with their performance; I have noted than more often than not, the coffee seems to have spent in the steaming chamber longer than needed for an espresso resulting in an extra-strong drink resembling very much an Austrian mocha. As a consequence, the drinks based on it are stronger than usual, including the coffee with milk.

Technically, there are three variations on the theme. "Cortado" includes only a drip of milk, creating a drink similar to the Italian macchiato. Following it, is the Café con Leche, which includes 20 to 30% hot milk. "Lagrima" ("tear" in Spanish) is a glass of hot milk with an espresso shot, what we know as "latte." Simple establishments in Buenos Aires – like the one reviewed here – would automatically serve café con leche unless instructed otherwise. As always in Argentina, it is accompanied by three bags of sugar.

During my various visits, I alternated between the café con leche and black coffee, and despite the hesitation of the staff to serve the pure drink, the product was always excellent and enjoyable. A point to keep in mind is that Argentineans roast coffee in the presence of sugar, thus it always has a sweet residual taste and aroma, even if no sugar was added.

Medialunas

Most probably, croissants were prepared for the first time in Vienna in 1683 to celebrate the defeat of the Turkish siege of the city; they literally ate the half-moon symbol of their imperialist foe. Croissants are patiently made of a leavened puff pastry by layering yeast dough with butter and rolling and folding; if properly prepared, the result is very light and of airy qualities and highly appropriate for a celebration of freedom.

However, the parallel pastry in Argentina – by far the most common one and almost an integral part of any cup of coffee served in Buenos Aires – is a different and heavy affair. The smallish creations appear in two varieties; one made of margarine and the other of a type of animal fat, and are rather heavy. Two or three of them (depending on their size, in terms of weight the serving is always similar) are offered with a coffee in most coffee shops. Usually a sign would read "café con leche – 3ml," the last part is the short form of "3 medialunas." Such a coffee would be served with three croissants.

The deal in "Lo de Ale" includes three croissants of good size and a cup of coffee for 7ARP (a bit above $2). The service – even during lunch, when they are serving mainly steaks and other meats – was always professional and pleasant. When one of the owners suspected I don’t speak English, he searched for an English speaking waitress and discreetly directed her to my table.

101: A Short Introduction to Empanadas Theory

Literally, "empanada" means "within bread" in Spanish and refers not to a sandwich, but to a turnover that is cooked in an oven or fried in oil. Very popular, it is consumed at all hours in most of South America.

Despite the reluctance of Argentineans to use chili in food – fact that introduces an artificial barrier to the variety and richness of the dish – few cities in the continent offer the variety in taste and shape of the "empanada porteña," the empanada prepared in Buenos Aires. Moreover, the vast majority of the empanadas consumed here are prepared in the oven, creating thus an additional limitation, though this one is of the healthy type.

As always, the local varieties depend on the available ingredients and the serving on local customs. In Buenos Aires, the dish is served dry; there is no chili or any other spices on the tables of the establishments serving it. There is no point of asking for them, chili and similar spices are banned from the local lexicon. Despite that, the dish is tasty and offers many varieties, which are usually differentiated by shape. Here are listed the most commonvarieties:

Con Carne: containing minced meat and little else, these empanadas tend to be quite dry and hollow; some places serve a variation made with chunks of meat.

Con Pollo: these are filled with chicken and sometimes feature veggies as a bonus. Like the meat empanadas, the chicken ones often have a semi-circular shape.

Con Jamon y Queso: filled with ham and cheese, these empanadas are among the most popular ones. Several varieties of cheese can be found, including Roquefort. More often than not, they have a circular shape.

Humita: this one is an adaptation of the dish of the same name, which is typical of the northwestern part of the country.

Con Cebolla y Queso: filled with onions and cheese, these empanadas are very popular and especially tasty. While ordering, use the Argentinean pronunciation of onion: "se-BOH-shah."

Con Albahaca, Tomate y Mozzarella: resembling a small Italian calzone, this empanada tastes more than any other one like a pizza.

Salteñas and Tucumanas: following the northwestern fashion I have described in my Cochabamba journal, these empanadas are difficult to find in Buenos Aires; though Flores and the Bolivian neighborhoods of Buenos Aires offer them.

102: Morita – Empanadas Caseras

Morita – Empanadas Caseras ("Morita – Homey Empanadas") is a popular empanadas and pizza joint in Buenos Aires downtown. Located on Viamonte 977, it is at walking distance from the Obelisco, and Lavalle and Florida walking streets; thus it is an ideal place to stop and investigate the dish while touring downtown, especially since it serves types of empanadas hard to find elsewhere.

The establishment offers just a few basic tables, a bar facing the side wall and a large window facing the street. The empanadas are ordered and paid for at the counter and then a waitress brings them to the customer once they are ready, usually after some five minutes.

Morita serves regular and double sized empanadas, the regular ones are served in many unusual variations, including tuna, veggies, and spicy meat in addition to the types already described. However, it is with the double ones where the place excels. These empanadas are huge and of circular shape; atop them, a red ink mark – similar to those used on Chinese mooncakes – tells the customer how they are filled. All of them contain a basic mix of ham and cheese, but to those are added: palm hearts, or tomatoes and eggs, or veggies and egg, or pineapple. The result is outstanding: creative, always fresh and tasty.

103: On Economics and Negotiations Theory

The regular empanadas are offered for a bit less than a dollar (though the exchange rate is rather volatile here), while the double ones are offered for 4ARP ($1.25 at the time of my visit) each. Two doubles or three regulars make a sensible fast lunch, thus these amounts are offered with a soft drink at a small discount from the regular price. Two doubles with a chilled 600ml bottle cost 10ARP (roughly three dollars) while offering a priceless experience.

The Taxi Driver

The taxi driver was drilling a hole in my head. I was in the way from the Ezeiza Airport to downtown Buenos Aires after having taken three flights in a row and having missed a night’s sleep. Yet, he went on and on explaining how the Argentinean Spanish was different from other dialects, completely obtuse to the fact that despite my heavy accent, I was using Argentinean consonants and phrasing. After finishing his monologue on higher linguistics, he began speaking about the fat and grease on the local meat. On and on he went. "I’m vegetarian!" I wanted to shout.

"What’s new in town?" I asked when he stopped to breath for the first time since I boarded his car. Not paying attention to the fact I had just disclosed previous visits to the city and that, apparently, that meant his talk was superfluous, he said:

"There’s an American coffee shop. They have one branch and will soon open more."

He got my attention.

"What’s its name," I asked.

"Strrbooks," he said missing the first vowel, using the heavy–duty Spanish "rr" consonant and pronouncing the "u" the way it is done in Spanish.

"Starbucks," I corrected.

"Strrbooks," he repeated looking at me in such a way that I was afraid to ask where the branch was. I ducked down in my seat and contemplated a better than expected visit. He kept talking to himself.

The Concierge

"Where is Starbucks," I asked emphasizing my accent so that I wouldn’t be expected to mutilate the name.

"At the Shopping Alto Palermo," the surprised concierge said and added "Take the Subway "D" and leave it at Bulnes Station, the shopping mall is next to the exit."

The Trip

My hotel was next to a Subway "D" entrance. Within minutes I was outside the hotel trying to decide which train would take me to Palermo, to do that I found the name of the last station in the Palermo direction – "Congreso de Tucuman" was its name – and then followed the signs. Nobody could stop me now.

I bought a multiple entries ticket, and tried to find a place in the first train. Impossible. Crowds left it, but multitudes conquered it. I was left alone at the platform. Determined to perform better next time, I rushed into the following train before any passengers could leave it. They seemed surprised, but I held my place. Soon, we reached the Bulnes Station; I left the train and climbed out to the street level.

Shopping Alto Palermo was written above a big poster of Eve Taylor.

Palermo is one of the most exclusive area in Buenos Aires; Shopping Alto Palermo cater thus to the top echelons of this expensive city. Despite the temptation, I had a serious business to fulfill and skipped the shopping despite Starbucks being part of the mall. Simply, it offered access through two external gates. Seeing my determination, the guard next to one of them stepped aside; I opened it and all of the sudden could smell my target.

Starbucks´ Stars

The place looked sparkling new, and like any typical large branch of Starbucks. It was tastefully decorated and arranged on an almost flat space. New cups with an attractive design and bearing the company’s name and a "Buenos Aires" printing were for sale. Everything was fine, except for the toilets which were out of order despite the early hour of my visit. Why was I procrastinating? After all, I came for a coffee and not for a lesson in design. Again, it was the effect of the crowds.

The place was so crowded that obvious strangers were sharing tables; the line to the coffee took ten minutes. Part of the delay was due to the fact that employees worked in pairs, each trainee working next to a trainer, giving a clear hint to the fact that the second branch is about to open. Moreover, the menu included instructions how to ask for a coffee, and many customers read them before ordering. There was an air of adventure, natives seeing a plane for the first time.

"I want that carton," somebody said, referring to the sleeves used to hold the cups. There wasn’t yet a word in Argentinean Spanish for it.

Suddenly, I was facing a nice girl.

"aahaha………" she said to fast for me to understand.

"Do you want something to eat?" she repeated in a slower pace.

"No," I said and proceeded to order my coffee. The pastries menu was extensive, but these tend to be oversweet in Argentina, so I gave up.

I advanced to the end of the counter and waited for my turn. After a few minutes, I saw my Americano being prepared; it was easy to spot, since most of the locals opted for the beverages which were a novelty for them. Starbucks even introduced here a type of Frappuccino with "dulce de leche" ("milk jam," a typical local jam prepared with milk and sugar). All of the sudden, I was being addressed again by a different girl.

"prrraaa…" she said and I was lost again. How many coffees did each worker drink before beginning the shift? The hand that was soon to serve me a coffee trembled and they talked very fast; "at least five cups," I told myself.

Then, she spoke slower and I managed to understand "cortado." That means a coffee with a bit of milk, like an Italian macchiato. Why did she care about the milk in my coffee? Looking around at the customers counter, I saw there was no milk there; this issue was under the strict control of the staff. Not wanting to begin an interrogation regarding the types of milk offered, I said no, and got my coffee.

Exhausted from the three airplanes, the taxi driver, the pushy people in the train and the long line to the coffee, I picked up my Americano and turned around. Waiting for me was a couch, the crowds stepped aside and opened a path to let me reach it.

I had a Starbucks coffee in Buenos Aires.